The Curse Of Oblivion

I took the title of this blog post from a new Magic the Gathering card.  "The Curse of Oblivion" slowly eats away at a player's discard pile, removing cards from it two at a time unless there aren't any there to remove.  The discard pile represents magics that have been used, or creatures that have been killed.  In some ways, it is a memory of things that have gone before.  Sometimes I wonder if I've inflicted a similar "curse" on me, or if I've somehow have something like that.  I'll have to explain why.

Today in church, I sat a seat away from a man who held his son on his lap.  I typically get pretty envious of little boys who get to sit on their dad's laps.  It tends to get more pronounced if I happen to have an attraction toward the father.  In this case, it wasn't much of a deal.  The dad let him sit on his lap, stand on his lap, or sometimes he just held his son to his chest.  He rubbed his son's back; he played with his son's hands.  In short, he was showing a lot of physical affection toward his son.  I was pretty envious, but I kept a nice, fake smile on my face so that the father wouldn't know what was going on.  I guess I was happy to see that some little boys are getting that from their dads.

Did I get something like that from my dad?  Honestly, I have a real hard time remembering.  I do remember my dad helping me school projects.  I remember my dad hugging me a few times.  I'm sure he did kiss us good night when we were younger.  Other than that, I can't remember.  I honestly have a very hard time remembering things from my childhood.  I have a few memories from early childhood, sometime around 3-5 years old.  Other than that, it's pretty blank.  I'm sure, at least from being a teenager, that I started to suppress a lot of memories.  Being a teenager was a very pleasant time for me.  I wonder if I somehow damaged my memory, because I struggle to remember things that happened on the previous week.

The reason memory came up, is that a man recently shared part of his story with me, about his life growing up, his relationship with his parents, and his struggles with same gender attraction.  When it came time to share my story, I hesitated.  I'm not even sure if I have all the facts straight.  I could speak with some degree of clarity about my time as a teenager.  Before that, I'm not entirely sure.  My reason for hesistation is a lot more than just not being able to remember.  It's a fear that I have my facts wrong.  I'm afraid that I'd cast my parents in a bad light.  I honestly don't remember having a close relationship with either of my parents.  I don't know if that's simply a by product from bad memory, or if it was something that really actually happened.

I wish I could remember.  I wish I could remember so that I could know what actually happened.  Was my father affectionate at all?  Did he hold me on my lap?  I want to remember, so that I know the truth.  The truth is what will ultimately help me heal.

Today, our Sunday school lesson was on the Final Judgment.  It spoke on how our thoughts, words, and actions would come to condemn us.  It also spoke on how I would be a record of my own life.  It got me to thinking that I may have forgotten some very important events in my life.  I may have forgotten something, and that could be influencing my relationship with my parents.

On the other hand, not having early childhood memories makes me sort of un-anchored.  It's disheartening to only have a void where I think memory should be.  Sometimes it makes me feel listless, and like I don't have a purpose.  It almost makes me feel like I'm restarting my life each and every day, with no past to work with.